


Mysa

by ThatBohoFemme



Series: The Language of Love [12]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Episode Tag, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Takeover: Wargames II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 10:15:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16721412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatBohoFemme/pseuds/ThatBohoFemme
Summary: “What?” Dream throws the door open, curious to seewhois so eager to see him.“Is thatany wayto treat the person who came purposely to check on you?” Aleister glares in Dream’s general direction.”Have you come to rub your victory in The Dream’s face?” The bitterness in his voice catches him off guard.“You worried me,Patrick. Your phone goes straight to voicemail.”Dream sheepishly glances away. He’d thrown his phone into the wall in a fit of rage when it wouldn’t stop ringing. Last he checked, his screen was smashed, and far from operational.“Say no more. We’ll fix that in the morning. Hope you have insurance.”





	Mysa

**Author's Note:**

> Mild spoilers for Takeover: Wargames 2 
> 
> I really need to write more for this ship. 
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> As always, I welcome your commments and feedback.

_**Mysa- Swedish- /v./- (mee-sah) - to get cozy. To snuggle up** _

Dream wants nothing more than to sleep off the stench of defeat. He’d gone out, busted his ass _and it hadn’t paid off_.

He’s not sure which hurts more- his dignity or his elbow after that drop onto the concrete.

The trainers recommend ice, heat and a wrap. They don’t _think_ it’s serious.

They offer no Band Aid for his wounded pride.

As he struggles to get comfortable, he’s startled as a knock echoes through the room. He groans, rolling onto his back. The _last_ thing he wants is to get out of bed and deal with people.

He ignores it, assuming whoever it was would get the message and go away.

They do the opposite. The knocking grows louder, almost sounding _angry_.

Dream lets out a frustrated growl as he pulls himself out of bed. Whoever this will clearly _not_ leave him alone.

“Hold on!” he shouts, trying to remember where he’d thrown his pajama pants.

People could get so weird when someone answered the door in their underwear. It didn’t make sense but Dream knows it’s best to adhere to society’s expectations on this one.

He struggles into purple silk pajama pants, feeling _much_ older than his 23 years.

The knocking continues.

“What?” Dream throws the door open, curious to see _who_ is so eager to see him.

“Is that _any way_ to treat the person who came purposely to check on you?” Aleister glares in Dream’s general direction.

”Have you come to rub your victory in The Dream’s face?” The bitterness in his voice catches him off guard.

“You worried me, _Patrick_. Your phone goes straight to voicemail.”

Dream sheepishly glances away. He’d thrown his phone into the wall in a fit of rage when it wouldn’t stop ringing. Last he checked, his screen was smashed, and far from operational.

“Say no more. We’ll fix that in the morning. Hope you have insurance.” Aleister impatiently taps his foot against the carpet. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” Dream’s not sure why he lets the man in, other than the fact he _doesn’t_ want to be alone.

Besides, Aleister’s not _bad_ company.

Previous experiences have taught him that The Dutch Destroyer is a _surprisingly_ good at cuddling.

Dream opens the door wider, allowing Aleister to slip in past him.

“You had a _great_ match.” Aleister reaches out, squeezing Dream’s shoulder. “People are talking.”

“Let them talk.” Dream glares at Aleister as he settles back onto the bed. “I didn’t win.” He scowls.

“You took Ciampa to the limit.” Aleister slips his shoes off as he joins Dream on the bed. “That’s something to be proud of.”

Dream isn’t sure he believes that but he at least appreciates the effort.

“Have you eaten?” Aleister asks, wrapping his arm around the back of Dream. “I don’t mean to mother but…”

“A protein bar and a few Tylenol for the arm,” Dream admits, avoiding Aleister’s disapproving stare. “Dream _tries_ to avoid eating when he’s an emotional mess.”

“Wise advice under _traditional_ circumstances.” Aleister gives Dream one of his elusive wry smiles. “How’s the arm?”

“Better,” Dream hisses, setting his elbow on the ice pack. “You’d _never_ believe I launched myself onto concrete.”

He rests his head on Aleister’s shoulder, breathing in in the traces of Ivory Soap. This is the kind of moment he secretly loves.

Dream’s not exactly sure what they are. It could be just an arrangement, meant to be a ‘for now’ kind of deal. It could be more. To be honest, he doesn’t even think they’ve decided yet.

“Do you need heat?” Aleiser moves to leave the bed but stills when Dream tightens his grip. He doesn’t want to let go. For the first time in hours, he’s actually almost comfortable. Then, Dream decides it best to let Aleister go.

“Where’d you get a bag from?” Dream watches in interest as his lover rummages through a tan canvas tote bag.

“Brought it with me.” He gives a nonchalant shrug. “Guess you were too enthralled with my presence to notice.”

That sounds _close_ to accurate. He hadn’t expected to see Aleister. There’s no rhyme or reason to their meetings. It might be four times in a week and then, nothing for a straight month. It’s just what they do.

Tonight’s a pleasant surprise.

After a few moments, Aleister slips back into bed. He holds a homemade heat pack, consisting of rice in a knotted sock. Dream raises his eyebrow as he stares at the item.

“Please assure me that is a _clean_ sock.” He stares expectantly, waiting for Aleister’s retort.

“Do I look like a Barbarian?” Aleister raises an eyebrow as he presses the pack to the crook of Dream’s arm. “Of course, it’s clean.”

“Can’t you do one of your rituals?” He knows healing rituals are a thing. Aleister’s told him a lot of stories where he learned how to do them and luckily, it worked out just as he meant it to.

“TLC is the better medicine.” Aleister shrugs. Kissing two fingers, he places them at Dream’s pulse point. “Besides, I can’t be your knight in shining armor if I make it instantly better.”

“The Dutch Destroyer has a heart- your public would be _appalled_.”

“Aleister Black has _no_ memory of that.” He twines their fingers together, as he leans back onto the piles of pillows.

“That’s my line.” Dream leans back too. He rests his head on his partner’s shoulder as he continues. “The Dream does not appreciate you stealing his material.”

“Oh _Patrick_ ,” Aleister teases, watching Dream scowl. “Don’t look so miffed. Wasn’t it a year ago that all you wanted was me to say your name?”  
Dream remembers that vividly. He’d lost that match _but_ Aleister said his name. It was a win as far as he was concerned.

After all, the only thing he wanted was for this intriguing man to acknowledge his existence.

He opened the door to find said man, waiting to congratulate him on a good match. The next thing he knew, Aleister was in his bed.

It was just one of those strange things that sometimes happened.

“Get some rest,” Aleister urges, pressing a gentle kiss to Dream’s temple. “I’ll be here throughout the night.”

Dream appreciates the reassurance. It’s not a common occurrence for his lover to spend the night- a fact that doesn’t bother him in the slightest.

As he begins to drift off, another thought springs to mind.

“Can you believe _he stole my headband_?” Dream knows it’s a ridiculous thing to rant on but it’s still a source of contention.

“A very bad man.” Aleister draws Dream closer to him. “Now, _rest please_.”

As he drifts off, Dream’s surprised to realize he sees a future with this odd man.

He sees cats- _loads_ of cats, a small European cottage and a huge Urban loft. He sees the two of them, growing old and loving each other.

It’s not a bad vision. It’s just not something Dream’s ever allowed himself to envision.

This is what lulls him to sleep, safe in the arms of the man he (dare he say) _loved_.

Surprisingly, he sleeps peacefully.

-fin-


End file.
